“I’m gonna love you till my lungs give out. I promise till death we part, like in our vows. So I wrote this song for you; now everybody knows, ’cause now it’s just you and me until we’re grey and old.”
-James Arthur, Say You Won’t Let Go
Care to talk about love? I’ve got my heart in one hand and an ice pick in the other. Shall I begin chiseling?
I don’t know much about love, but that song paints an image of it in my head that I’ve never been able to see with my naked eyes. Every time I hear it, I feel something–something like a lusting envy; some kind of dormant longing that had to be dug up for me to be made aware of it. Now it lays before me like the dead body of someone I never knew but want to meet. Can it be brought to life? Can I, or someone, breathe into it? Or am I destined to be forever known as Modern-day Frankenstein?
So, does that song do anything like that for anyone else? No? Understandable. It’s strange ’cause I’m not typically into the mainstream tunes on the radio with the cliche lyrics and the exhausted meanings (love). Still, it does something to me. It pries open my eyes and makes me stare at my reflection in everything I’m so close to drowning in. And what do I see? …Iunno. Something like a silhouette trying to make its own face. An alien trying to survive by feigning foreign ways.
I’m not always sure what I want, but that song made it clear(er) to me.
“I’ll wake you up with some breakfast in bed. I’ll bring you coffee with a kiss on your head. I’ll take the kids to school, wave them goodbye. And I’ll thank my lucky stars for that night.”
-James Arthur, Say You Won’t Let Go
The lyrics handed me a premonition, gift-wrapped. It gave me an image of me and some faceless woman having breakfast in our house in the suburbs as the sun rose. There were two small kids, toys on the floor and cartoons on the TV. And I felt a yearning stronger than I ever have.
Will I ever have that?
I know, I’m still young, and I know, there’s someone for everyone, but what if I’ve already met “someone”? I’ve been in plenty of relationships where the girls have done everything they could, but it’s like it wasn’t enough. Looking back, I realize every relationship I’ve been in has ended because of me. It’s so strange. I’m like a hopeless romantic who doesn’t know how to love. Instead, I live in some fairy tale world that’s a spitting image of Beauty and the Beast, holding expectations that no human can ever meet.
Which brings me to my next question: What is love?
Ugh, even typing the question makes me feel like I’m trying to swallow a mouthful of sugar. It’s a question similar to a couple I asked in my last post, Are You Happy?–one with many, and at the same time, no answers. And I’m sure everyone has an answer that at least somewhat differs from another’s.
What is love to me? Why, I’m glad you asked…Not really. I don’t have an answer. It’d be like me trying to tell you what a chocolate chip canolli tastes like when I’ve never had one. I have, by the way, and they’re not my favorite for no reason.
When I think of love, I think of my family. With them, there’s an overwhelming sense of comfort and ease. I finally know who I am, and I know who they are. Nothing is forced, nothing is faked; it’s all like a gentle stream. They’re like my life support, and sometimes I have to come really close to a whole lot of nothing before I remember how easy it is to breathe with them there.
Honestly, imagining myself feeling that for anyone else is unfathomable. But who knows? What does love mean to you?